The Right Kind Of People
by Bill in OC
Summary: (Ch 4 up) A kid new to Ocean Shores and anxious to 'fit in' looks for friends - and is initially drawn to start hanging with the Lasers! What's gonna happen? (Genre and rating may readjust as needed)
1. Changes

There was a lot new going on in Bill DeLuca's young life. His father Sal had gotten a job change from his company that was both a promotion and a transfer of sorts, and his mom Nancy had just gotten accepted for a teaching position. Both jobs it turned out were in, or very near, a southern California beach community called "Ocean Shores."

It would be a big change from the life he'd known on a ten-acre mini-farm in a suburb in eastern Colorado. Bill was all of twelve years old, but rather tall and strong for his age; not surprisingly his p.e. teacher at the middle school let Bill try out for any team that interested him. Lots of his teammates were sad to hear that their friend had to leave, and there was a big going away party for him at the end of the term.

The sale of the family horse in March was kind of hard on Bill because he took this as a sign that there would be no turning back. Over the ensuing weeks, other artifacts of their countryside lifestyle got auctioned off on eBay or given away to lifelong friends: numerous motorbikes in varying stages of readiness, a few small-bore rifles and shotguns, an eight-foot plastic rowboat (nobody was sure where it came from or how it got there). When it was time to move their stuff, all the unique property Bill was basically left with were his clothes, his electronic still-camera, his snowboard, and his mountainbike, which last two he had pleaded with his parents to leave alone.

And then came that trip to Florida. As the rising sun ended their last night in Colorado, Bill's mom and dad awakened him, urging him to gather up his camera and his warm-weather clothes. Tne movers were waiting outside with a small truck to pack up the DeLuca's mattresses, clothing, and what little property was left in the house. Sal's truck and Nan's car had already been towed to the railroad station; a taxicab was waiting to take the family to the airport.

When they checked in for their flight, Bill noticed something. "We're moving to California, right? So, why are we going to Orlando and not Los Angeles?" he asked.

"Aw, we thought we'd surprise you," explained Sal.

"Besides, it's been a while since we took a genuine vacation," Nan said.

After they cleared security and entered the concourse, Bill noticed two very familiar looking people waiting at the departure lounge for the Orlando flight. Lewis Carter, who looked like an extra from a Mark Twain movie with freckles and a straight blond mop, and Brian Malone, a black-Irish with wavy hair, Bill's classmates and best friends, would be going with them on vacation as well. Equal parts jock and thrill-seeker with a little bit of nerd thrown in, they rose and greeted the DeLucas and grabbed Bill in a three-way hug, each scratching the heads of the other two. Most of Bill's waking time outside of school had been spent with either or both of these guys.

"This is gonna be so good!" Bill exclaimed.

"Dude, we got the place wired. Everything I know about the best theme parks, and everything Brian knows about water sports--we can't lose!" Brian said.

"Yah right. The time you yacked up your lunch on El Rollo--" said Lewis.

"Says you. What about the time I saved you _and_ Stacy Morgan at Lake Smith--" laughed Brian.

* * *

It took them a couple of weeks to make the rounds of the various theme parks and tourist attractions. And then, for good measure, the first time Bill had seen an ocean. Miami Beach was Bill and Lewis' first time on a surfboard (Brian's at least second; he had visited Hawaii about a year earlier). They had made their way down to Key Largo and had a good time there with snorkeling tours. The boys liked diving so much they and Sal went on a guided scuba tour of a coral reef.

Then eventually came the time, sadly, to part company. From Miami, Brian and Lewis were flying back to Denver about an hour after the DeLucas would be flying to Los Angeles, and it was all they could do to console Bill, who was literally in tears.

"I... I really like... being around you guys. I wish I could always have friends like you who can do everything I can do and like the same kind of stuff." cried Bill.

"That's all right," counseled Lewis, "you'll be around for Christmas, right?"

"And I'll be heading out your way next summer," Brian said. "The crew out in Ocean Shores will have a few things to teach me. I hear there's a fellow out there a year or so younger than us who snagged the state skateboard championship from an 18-year-old. It follows that he's also a pretty good snowboarder, so he might be a pretty good surfer too. I think you'll have no problem finding the right kind of people to hang with."

"You guys take care," Bill said with a teary smile, as the trio scratched each others' heads. _"Une pour tout,"_ he began their salute.

_"Et tout pour une!!"_ they replied, as Nan led Bill off to join Sal. 


	2. Arrival

Later that evening, their airport shuttle finally came to a stop in front of a two-story house with a triple-wide garage, Bill couldn't believe the view the neighborhood had of the pier and boardwalk downhill, and of the city to inland. A realtor was waiting there with keys to the house and some papers for Sal and Nancy to sign. The house was beautiful; it had a triple-wide garage (their vehicles and some other things were already waiting in it) and two large bedrooms with full bath. There was a room that could be used as an office, a huge kitchen that had a soft-drink dispenser in it, and a large den / dining / livingroom that could accommodate a billiard table, some social furniture, and a good size television and still have room enough for a place setting. The house was full of boxes, but the beds were already set up. All they had to do was pick out some clean sheets and blankets to make them. The day had been long indeed for Bill, and for the DeLucas, in more ways than one. So they all headed off to bed, and fell soundly asleep.

* * *

Bill awoke early and looking out the window of his room into the backyard was pleasantly surprised to find a pool. Hurriedly he picked out a pair of swimtrunks from his suitcase, dashed downstairs, climbed the springboard, and jumped in.

"WAHOO!!"

(kasplash!)

"Thought you'd like it," said Sal.

Bill swam to the rail, a great big silly smile plastered from one side of his face to the other. "You made a good choice, Dad. You and Mom are the greatest."

"Listen, son, uhm, I gotta take care of some stuff over at my new office, and there ain't a thing in the kitchen. Mom has to do some grocery shopping, so... why don'tcha bike down and check out the boardwalk and grab yourself something to eat. I've left you some money on your bed."

"Alright Dad. You have a good day."

"You too Bill. Take care."

* * *

Bill found a place on the pier that emitted a "good cooking" smell. He came in and studied the menu. The two men who ran the joint had been talking with each other about something, then the one in the cook's shirt and the boonie hat greeted him. "Good morning. What can we do ya for?"

"Uh, I think I'll have the scrambled eggs with... Portuguese sausage and steamed rice. With a large orange juice and a small milk."

"One _ex_cellent kind choice, lil cuz," the other acknowledged, a shorter dark-complexioned man in a blue shirt. "It'll take just a little bit."

Bill sat at the counter and relaxed, watching some of the local news on an overhead TV. He reached over to a wire rack containing a pile of newsprint brochures. "Reggie's Zine," the logo proclaimed... "Serving Ocean Shores and the universe." Intrigued, he flipped over to the contents and masthead...

Reggie Rocket: Publisher, Editor, Director of Journalism  
Sam Dullard: Technical Services  
Twister Rodriguez: Special Media Projects  
Otto Rocket: Director of Testing  
Breezy Copeley: Foreign Correspondent 

Bill took a moment to read a couple of articles and check out some pics. Amazing for free stuff, he reckoned. His food was ready. He'd gotten a third drink, a large glass of ice water, in addition to what he'd ordered. Hungry, he tore into his breakfast and chomped one of the sausage slices. About ten seconds later, Bill took a sip of water. "Wow! Das-a-one-a-_spicy_ sausage!" he laughed, in the Italian accent he used when surprised.

"_Linguica_ is best enjoyed a _little bit_ at a time, lil cuz," the blue shirted man returned the laugh.

It was indeed an acquired taste, as Bill learned, and one that he found he liked. When he was finished eating, he paid the bill and thanked them. "To quote the Governor of your beautiful state," Bill quipped, donning a pair of sunglasses, "I'll be back."

The two guys behind the counter doubled over in laughter as Bill donned his helmet and rode off.

* * *

Bill idly rode onward along the promenade, his attention drawn by techno music from a loud boom box. A crowd of about seventy people had gathered around three picnic tables placed end to end at a precise interval, where a teenage boy was expertly bouncing on his bicycle performing tricks on top of the tables. This guy wore a blue helmet and a faded Soviet hockey jersey. The crowd applauded loudly as he performed a ninety-degree twist in mid-air with a narrow margin for error. Just then Bill heard somebody's cell phone ringing.

_Da da dat da, da da dat da, da da dot dat daah!_

The performer froze and extracted the phone from a pants pocket. Frowning, he jumped down from his bike and turned down the sound so he could take the call.

"Please. Don't tell me, Piston..." he answered, exposing a missing tooth in his upper jaw.  
...  
"You...WHAT?!?!" he snapped.  
...  
"Don't... EVEN!!!!" he roared.  
...  
"Here's the way it is, esse: Our hockey game starts at eleven o'clock. With, _OR_, withoutcha. _Capeesh?_"  
...  
"What_ever!!" _He snapped the phone shut, terminating the call. _"Faaark!!"_ he screamed at the sky, evidently quite upset about something. The audience dispersed and went about their business, mumbling to themselves.

"So you're down a man, huh?" said Bill to the performer. "I ain't got nothin to do til lunch time. Maybe I can help you guys out."

"You play streethockey?" the guy asked, removing his helmet and squirting his head down with a water bottle.

"_Ice_hockey," Bill corrected, as the guy sized him up. "Our team was state champions in Colorado."

~Maybe he _could_ help us at that,~ the guy in the faded Soviet jersey thought. ~He's big for his age, he's strong, and he's smart. Better than nothing.~ "Okay!" he replied. "Go rent yourself a pair of blades and mess around in MadTown for a while, and meet me in that parking lot over there at ten-thirty. I'll have one of my friends bring an extra stick for you. Never caught your name by the way."

"Bill DeLuca." Bill extended a hand.

"Lars Rodriguez." Lars noticed Bill's enlarging eyes, and interpreted them as wondering why a Rodriguez would have a name like Lars. He gripped Bill's extended hand. "Yeah, I know your next question. It's a long, sad story..." 


	3. Showtime

A/N: Hi all! A brief note before I continue; I'd like to give shouts to my good friend Scott Sanchez for his advice, and also to Ryan _ and Lauren _ for their inspiration. To Miguel Chavez, as well, for helping me to think outside the box, and "Relaxing Pikachu" for being there to cheer us all on.

* * *

All helmeted and padded up, Bill skated around in his rented blades, messing around on the flat cement getting used to speed, stopping, and turning. The only times he had previously "skated in skates" was in ice skates on ice, and it took a little bit of adaptation, but within a few moments he got his bearings as though he'd always done it. Foregoing the rails and funboxes (he thought those interesting but "board territory") he tested the blader bowl for a bit. ~This could get interesting,~ Bill thought. as he tried going around the bowl as fast as he could, the centripetal forces literally driving him up the wall.

A blur of red and yellow shot past Bill at warp speed, a few inches shorter than him. Moving out of the way for additional skates he heard behind him, Bill saw that the speedster was followed close behind by a slightly taller fellow in a winged helmet and a girl who was wearing a purple shirt over woodland-camo BDU's. Bringing up the rear but still at a respectable clip was a short fellow in a shark-motif helmet wearing faded 501s. One after another they charged up the side of the pool and vaulted up onto the deck; the fourth wobbled a bit but didn't fall. Bill overhead parts of their ensuing conversation:

"I did it!" number four said, exulting.  
"See what a difference a good set of bearings makes?" replied number one in a raspy tenor.  
"Remember, General Squidmeister: Velocity is your friend!" commented number two.  
"The whistle blows in half an hour, guys," the girl told the others. "I'm ready to sit down for a bit."  
Then the four of them skated off. Bill paid them no mind, at least for the moment.

* * *

"DeLuca!" shouted Lars from outside the fence. "Showtime!"

"So, who's on our plate today?" Bill asked with anticipation as he followed Lars to the lot. Lars handed Bill a big red-and-blue jersey just like the one he was wearing, and then a stick.

"The Ocean Shores Rockets," said Lars disdainfully. "I'll tell you a little more about them when they show up. These are your team mates for today: our goalie, Animal, and our...first wing, Sputs. Your...basic territory," he continued, thinking on the fly, "will be the area between the center line and the goal tongue, basically to take care of any business that gets past both me and Sputs."

"But I can still do offense if there's a problem, right?"

"Well then uh, ok. Just keep your ears open. Wait a minute, the other guys are here."

Bill couldn't believe it. These kids wriggling into their white-and-green jerseys at the other end of the lot were the same folks who just a little while earlier made such an impressive diaplay of speedskating, yet they were clearly much younger and smaller than Lars and his two friends. He stood and looked at them as Lars explained. "That fellow with the shades and the auburn dreadlocks - Otto - he's their skipper, one wily ruthless son of a gun. Watch out for him. That guy with the freckles he's talking to, that's ...Maurice, my brother. Try to leave him to me. That little four eyed geek is Sammy and he's **their** goalie, awful hard to get anything past him. The girl - Reggie - remember, she wants to play hockey, so if it comes down to it treat her accordingly..."

"But they're littler than us, right? Why you stressin?" Bill wondered.

"Sometimes it ain't the size of the dogs in the fight that matters," Lars answered. "Lotta times it's the size of the fight in the dog, and **those** dogs gotta lotta fight in 'em."

Then came the buzzer...


	4. Curtain

_(Among the Rockets, just before the game started.)  
_  
"Twister!" Otto addressed. "Who's your brother's new friend?"  
  
"Huh?" Twister wondered. Then, looking at the unfamiliar character being briefed by Lars, he continued, "Woah, nobody I've seen before. Probably one of my _other_ gazillion cousins I haven't met. Or somebody he ran into on the promenade who owed him a favor..."  
  
"I'd favor a third theory," Sam interjected. "Pi's not here, and Lars is practically behaving himself around this new guy." _As well he might be expected to,_ thought Sam; _this guy he's addressing as DeLuca has an inch on him and ten pounds or so._ "He might be a friend of Pi's, or a total stranger who's looking to play a game of hockey."  
  
Otto chimed in. "So, let's give the bunch of 'em--"  
  
"--an experience they'll never forget!!" Reggie concluded.  
  
"_Woogie woogie woogie..._" all four of them said, as if in response, while each the foursome wiggled the fingers of their left hand, standing briefly in a circle before they took the field. 

* * *

_**To:** Lewis Carter, Brian Malone  
**From**: Bill DeLuca  
**Subject:** Greetings from California!  
...Anyway, I made some friends today. Well, one that I can name right off: Lars Rodriguez. It turns out he lives over on the next block. I think he's in high school, but I might still invite him for my 13th next month. Turned out that his hockey team was down a guy for some reason or other. Anyway we played against this other team made up of this girl who was a year or so older than me, and these three boys the eldest of them being like 11 years old. I tell you, appearances can be deceiving. Those guys could easily hold their own on the B-league imo, if not completely dominate it. In the entire match we were able to squeeze the only point of the game out of 'em, and that was a total lucky shot when I saw their goalie looked like he was about to sneeze and I snatched the puck from their captain for like the fifth time in the game and the clock was at like -0:10 and the sound effect was like thwack followed by ah choo! then it clatters off the goalie's skate back into the net, and it records a point. We went to this ice cream place over on the promenade and gorged ourselves silly; my head still hurts a bit!..._   
  
Bill saved his outgoing note before continuing, then went downstairs to the kitchen. When he returned to his room, an IM was waiting for him. He responded.  
  
**L_RodOS:** just learned they are resurfacing the lot tomorrow, it could take a couple of days or so, do you wanna go surf then?  
_**wsd_310**: sounds like a nice idea, only trouble is i just started to learn and i don't have a board_  
**L_RodOS:** you could use my brother's  
_**wsd_310:** lol tyvm but any board he might use could be too small for me, newa i'd ask him myself. i'll need to go shopping newa, usual just moved into town stuff...  
**wsd_310:** ...don't need snow clothing round here unless you drive up to the snow :D_  
**L_RodOS:** ask around about the el nada of 01 XD  
_**wsd_310:** yah i read about that in the denver post lol_  
**L_RodOS:** newa thanks again bill. we literally couldn't have pulled it off without ya  
_**wsd_310:** really? honored, but what about the guy who couldn't make it--piston?_  
**L_RodOS:** what about him? afaik he's got ...issues to work through or something. if pi showed up the best we coulda hoped for was a tie  
  
Bill wondered what was going on. Why was Lars being so nice to him, when it was not in his observed general behavior to be nice? Bill's parents, meanwhile, were holding a barbecue lunch the next day, and had urged him to bring whatever friends he'd made thus far for swimming and hamburgers. He tapped out an invitation.  
**  
**_**wsd_310:** lars, the lasers are invited to my place 130p tomorrow for a bbq. we have a pool. bring towels and bathing suits. piston can come too if his mom and dad let him_  
**L_RodOS:** lol cool we'll bring appetites too, c u @ 129p later...much ;) 

* * *

_(A few hours earlier, and right after the game.)_  
  
The Rockets held their post-mortem bull session at the Shore Shack. Otto opened the discussion over a round of soda, burgers, and fries. "Man, how were we to know that the Lasers would show up with a guest player with an i.q. equal to that of the other three put together?"  
  
"As much as I thought these four words would never cross my lips, I miss having Pi around," Twister observed.  
  
"That's five," counted Sammy.  
  
"See? I'm getting better at that sort o' thing," Twister countered.  
  
"Actually, boys, you have a point," replied Reggie. "If this DeLuca guy subs for Pi again, our chances for a playoff slot will almost certainly vanish into thin air. It might help to learn more about his background and experience and style of play."  
  
Otto extracted a banknote from his pocket and slapped it onto the table. "Five says he's a clone from the DNA of Teemu Selanne, or even--"(he crossed himself) "--Wayne Gretzky."  
  
"Keep your money, Ottoman," Sam advised, sliding the five back to Otto. "My mom and I received an invitation to a housewarming party at their home this evening. I'll simply introduce myself, congratulate him on his skill, and let him tell me the rest of the story."  



End file.
